


The Problem With Guilt

by Silence_Speaker



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Late Night Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:07:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silence_Speaker/pseuds/Silence_Speaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of the Voyage of the Dawn Treader Peter and Edmund talk.</p><p>(Because each time he goes to Narnia Edmund encounters the Witch.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Problem With Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> Bit of a ramble really.
> 
> Disclaimer.
> 
> The problem with guilt.
> 
> _Guilt: The awareness of wrongdoing accompanied by feelings of shame and regret.  
>  -Fact of wrongdoing, an admission of guilt.  
> \--Responsibility for wrongdoing.  
> \---Legal culpability._

Narnia, the land Edmund dreamed of, no matter that Aslan had said he wouldn’t return. 

Narnia, a place of mythical wonder, where Edmund had ruled alongside his siblings. 

Narnia, his true home.

Narnia, the source of his _dreams_.

 

#

 

He startled awake with a gasp.

The room, house even, was silent, not a creak to be heard at the late (or extremely early) hour.

Gradually his pounding heart slowed and he felt his muscles sink slightly into the tough mattress. His fingers entwined with the rough cloth of the top quilt, the chill of winter creeping into the sleep warm hollow his body had created.

Unable to lie still any longer he got to his feet and, without at twitch at the naked floor against his bare feet, got to his feet and walked down to the kitchen.

A cup of tea would do wonders.

On second thought, the kettle was probably a little shrill for the hour. He would have to make do with water.

He stepped lightly along the darkened hall, down the stairs (unconsciously avoiding the three creaky steps) and past the windows, covered in the blackout curtains.

He was surprised to see light peek from under the door of the kitchen when he approached. Evidently he wasn’t the only one with disturbed sleep.

He pushed open the door, unsurprised to find the slightly hunched figure at the table peering through a well thumbed book.

He got his water and settled down opposite, glancing curiously at the cover.

Tales of King Arthur.

Fitting.

He sipped at the water shuddering at the chill but glad as he felt the last vestiges of sleep leave him.

“At an interesting part?” He enquired lightly.

Peter jumped, jerking his head up in a startled motion that managed to make Edmund’s own heart leap in his chest. He glanced around for what could have startled Peter so before realising that he had made his brother jump.

Hadn’t Peter sensed him come in?

“You looked just like Orelius had come seeking you for training when you were late.” Edmund teased, bittersweet.

Peter’s lips didn’t even twitch.

“So, you want to tell me why you’re in silent vigil?” He prompted after waiting for words that Peter wasn’t going to voice.

“You have to ask?” Peter raised an eyebrow.

“No.” Edmund sighed.

Of course not. He wasn’t the only one who remembered Narnia, thank Aslan.

“Are you alright?” Peter asked, keen blue eyes running over him. Edmund felt the familiar scrutiny settle over him like a cloak.

His lips gave a wry smile.

“Is this to do with the voyage of the Dawn Treader?” Peter could be very perceptive at times and when he was it was usually directed at his siblings. Especially Edmund.

He tilted his head ever so slightly to acknowledge the fact that Peter was partially correct.

Peter didn’t press further. Conversely this made Edmund mentally form words to explain his muddled thoughts.

“Each time,” He began then paused to take another sip of water to quench his suddenly dry mouth. “Every time-” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

“It was mine and Lucy’s last visit.” Edmund eventually said, changing what he was trying to put into words at the last moment.

Peter blinked, gaze sharpening.

“What?” His voice cracked through the silent air like a whip. “What?” Peter repeated, softer.

Edmund shrugged.

“Me and Lucy are too old now. Eustace will return one day.”

“And you’re unsure how to feel?” Peter continued.

“No.” Edmund shook his head. “Well, yes, but not really. That isn’t what-what-well, that isn’t quite-”

“Spit it out, Ed.” Peter ordered.

“It’s just-I saw her.” He blurted out, all his carefully thought out ways of phrasing it to gently ease Peter into what had occurred fled before reaching his throat.

Peter blinked, baffled.

Edmund swalled.

Suddenly he desperately needed something to do with his hands, something to take his attention away from Peter’s clear gaze.

He choked down more water, feeling the icy grip of the cool liquid spread through his chest, spreading through his body.

He shuddered.

Peter took it as a shiver and reached out with a hand, larger than it had been the first time they had entered Narnia, and gripped his shoulder.

“You’re freezing Ed! Why didn’t you put on a jumper or some socks or something!” Peter rolled his eyes, divesting himself of his robe and throwing it across Edmund’s slighter shoulders.

Edmund tightened his grip around the glass as the warmth from the borrowed robe slowly seeped through, loosening the icy touch in his chest just enough that he managed to find his voice again.

He suddenly realised he felt cold, chilled to the bone and gratefully wrapped his arms into the overlarge sleeves and across his body.

“I saw her.” He repeated. He carefully placed down the glass. “Jadis. The White Witch. She was there at-” the words stuck in his throat. Peter looked stricken. “She was there when I stumbled through the wardrobe...she was there at Aslan’s How...and in the Island Where Dreams Come True. She was there, she spoke to me, reached out, her fingers were only centre meters away...”

Edmund trailed off, staring blankly at the table top that was littered with the marks of use. A scratch there from a careless toss of a knife when Peter was younger, a burn mark from when Lucy accidently set fire to the table cloth...

He jumped when a warm (how could a single hand be so _warm_?) palm landed on his shoulder, squeezing companionably.

“She has no hold on you now.” Peter said, so utterly sure what he was saying was complete fact.

“How do you know that?” Edmund tried to spit out the words, retreat from the emotion in his brothers eyes that scared him with the intensity, tried to push away but his voice failed him. Instead the words came out hushed, a question.

Peter smiled.

“Because you’re Edmund.” He answered simply. “My brother. Because I trust _you_.”

Edmund flinched.

“You have faced her three times now and each time you have overcome her.” Peter continued, pulling him into an embrace that chased away the last vestiges of ice from within him. Edmund felt the words as a rumble from Peter’s chest through to his own.

“But I didn’t.” He whispered. “Not the first time. I betrayed you all, I betrayed my own siblings. I betrayed Narnia.”

Lucy would have said that Edmund had betrayed them but that he had come back which was the main thing. And he’d learnt from it.

Susan would have-well, it was probably best not to think about what Susan would have said, considering the fact she had forgotten Narnia.

But Peter was too blind in his love to follow Lucy in her quest for the truth.

“You faced her, after everything, after you had suffered under her, after you witnessed her cruelty first hand. You fought against her, Ed, and I don’t think I would have the courage nor perseverance to do the same.”

“Of course you would have. You fought her too.” Edmund said quietly, hands probably gripping Peter far too tightly. Peter didn’t complain.

“You didn’t hesitate at the How, you struck while she had me in her thrall, as I simply stood and listened.” Peter changed tracks when he evidently realised his words weren’t sinking in quite as much as he had hoped. “You are the Just King of Narnia, why don’t you exercise some of that famous forgiveness upon yourself?” 

Edmund reluctantly dislodged himself from Peter’s arms and they sat back down at the table.

“Because I cannot forgive myself. I was a traitor of the worst sort. But now we’re just rehashing the past.”

“Sometimes the past needs to be rehashed.” Peter said stubbornly. Edmund gave a small smile.

“I cannot forgive myself, Peter.” He repeated, holding that blue gaze with his own, darker, eyes. “I can push past the guilt, it isn’t crippling anymore and while I will always regret my actions I cannot regret the fact that it brought us closer in the end, that it changed me for the better. Although I am grateful forever of the way you, Lucy, Susan” his voice caught a little on her name, “and Narnia forgave me. Of the way Aslan absolved me. So, no I cannot forgive myself but self forgiveness isn’t essential.”

Only a comfort.

That was the problem with guilt. It never left, it might fade, might diminish, but the gnawing feeling of shame could flare up just as strong as the first time, even decades later.

Edmund could go months, perhaps even years, without a flicker of that sickening emotion, without recalling his betrayal but when he did remember, when it came back from a flippant remark or a night terror, then it was just as strong as it had been after his first talk with Aslan.

But it helped. Edmund felt his lips pull upwards in a wry smile. Bittersweet. The rememberence helped him forge forward, no matter what obstacles were put in his path, forge forward, made him do his best especially when it counted. 

He couldn’t wish away the guilt. It helped make him who he was.

They sat in silence. Edmund nearly laughed at the face Peter pulled when he tried to come up with a counter argument.

He wasn’t about to change his mind, forgiveness didn’t equal forgetting but Edmund was far too terrified of forgetting to ever forgive.

So he changed the subject.

“What brought you down here?” He asked.

Peter blinked, disconcerted by the abrupt change in topic.

“Ah,” Peter smiled ruefully, “just memories.” He answered vaguely. 

Edmund frowned.

“Not bad ones.” Peter hastened to add. “I was just thinking.”

A pause fell and Edmund relaxed.

“Don’t strain yourself.” He muttered.

“Har har.” Peter drawled


End file.
